


Shattered Sunlight

by Nadare



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Superpowers, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 07:51:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4598742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadare/pseuds/Nadare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One cold winter night in America, a chance meeting took place, and unknown to those involved begun a chain reaction of events unforeseen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Despondency

_Author’s Note: The following is an odd sort of story between Schuldig and Aya. It starts in the middle and will end in the beginning (hopefully) so if you’re confused, everything will be explained in due time. Nekojita's vast area of work was probably the main reason this story came into being. Thanks for making Schuldig so amusing!_

[Written from January 31st to February 2nd of 2003]  
[Edited 8/16/15]

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Weiss/Weib Kreuz. If I did, I would be making more TV episodes, and not writing fan fiction.  
\--------------------------------------------  
**_“Shattered Sunlight”_**  
_Chapter One: Despondency_  
  
His fingers gripped and convulsed around Ran’s arms, briefly shaking the swordsman before shoving him against the alley wall none too gently. Ran’s gaze was screwed, focused inward on his mind’s eye, no doubt reflecting upon what had taken place in that small apartment not two blocks away. His clothing was singed, the long sleeved black shirt covering his upper torso wrinkled and worn, the sleeve burned away up to Ran’s elbow. Schuldig had been unable to pull Ran from the inferno of his apartment any sooner as the circumstances had been frenzied and incalculable.  
  
When he tried to call Ran back to himself, the memory of a pair of blazing amethyst eyes surrounded by flames flashed in his mind. An orange, red, blue, purple, yellow fire that burned and shifted around the faint outline of the former Kritiker assassin. Yet the fire had left not a mark on Ran’s flesh, merely consuming a bit of his clothes instead. Before the firestorm had broken out, Schuldig had discovered the unresponsive Ran standing motionless by the remnants of a body. A bound and broken doll that had been messed in every wrong way, dried bloody patches on her inner thighs and buttocks, along with numerous cuts and bruises littering the flesh of his sister’s body.  
  
Then the air had begun to change, becoming fast filled with heat and humidity. Fire had sprung to life all around them, eating at the walls and carpets at a furious rate. Schuldig had stood by the bedroom doorway rather stupidly for a few moments, beads of sweat gathering on his brow and then became aware again, and in a long string of German curses clutched Ran’s forearm and led him away from the burning apartment. As they moved down the building’s steps, he had immersed himself into Ran’s mind, calling up and sorting through a variety of memories from the man’s past, focusing on incidents having to do with the element fire.  
  
Interestingly, Ran had never once been burned in his life. Singed a bit but never had flame harmed his flesh, not once. It had only taken Schuldig a moment to comprehend that revelation, immediately drawing a conclusion and finding it correct as soon as he had laid hands on the man’s flesh. Ran’s internal temperature had risen, nearly scorching Schuldig’s hands but he had gritted his teeth and held fast until the body pressed against his own had lowered, retreating to its usual temperature. To put it simply: Ran was talented, a pyrokinetic who had willingly ignored all signs of his gift until extreme grief had shattered the chains he’d laid upon his power.  
  
Schuldig, after confirming that Ran’s power was indeed in check, nearly cursed when he scanned his mental status. For all extensive purposes, Ran had been broken two times in his life. The first incident was his parents’ murder, which had occurred following the instant Ran had spotted the bomb, ticking off the seconds they had to evacuate the house and flee from the sight of his parents’ mutilated bodies. This was the reason why he could not do much more than stand dazedly after pulling himself and Aya-chan to safely. His mind was in disorder, and trying to salvage what little sanity it could. He’d succeeded only because his sister had been run down by Takatori’s car a moment later, drawing him back to reality, off the edge of the pit leading into the darkness of pandemonium.  
  
The second incident was hearing of his sister’s condition, the final confirmation after so many inquiries that she was indeed in a coma, and there was a chance she would remain that way forever, in eternal slumber. The first time he had laid eyes on her, he had continued to speak to her as if she was just sleeping, and in a moment’s notice, would open her eyes and reassure him that everything was going to turn out all right. Ran had stopped speaking to her after that first visit, and observed in laden silence, very much nearing the point of losing hope for her recovery. He didn’t fly into a rage, but Schuldig had clearly gained the impression it had shattered his heart beyond repair all the same. Ran had returned to his normal self, minus a few immature mannerisms, after hearing of Kritiker’s offer and accepting the proposal days later.  
  
Schuldig snarled at himself as he observed Ran in his grip, who continued to gaze straight ahead at absolutely nothing, and looked as if he could keep on doing this kind of thing for the immediate future. “If you break, I’m going to mess with that head of yours and input a more desirable personality. One that doesn’t have a problem with responding to my advances like the old Ran. Do you hear me? I’m going to use and abuse you, and when I’m done, I’m going to throw you away for some other person to savage. You won’t care in the least because you fucking **shattered** here and now!”  
  
Their meeting, Schuldig’s and Ran’s, had come about quite accidentally. After various other run-ins with each other, they’d resolved to meet on a regular basis to avoid the incidents from happening altogether. However, over time, they had found they enjoyed each other’s company though Ran was not happy over Schuldig’s increasingly forceful advances. The telepath had come away with many a bruises and aches because of the Ran’s violent nature, which was not least bit gentle in making his feelings known.  
  
Schuldig waited for a response, any kind of response but upon finding none, viciously hit Ran across the face, his palm leaving a nearly red imprint on the man’s right cheek. He did not acknowledge the blow physically or psychologically, meaning Ran had shut himself off to pain as well as verbal abuse.  
  
Schuldig could well understand the pain but Ran…despite his cold demeanor was a very emotional person. Therefore, once he’d brooded long enough and found no amity, he became depressed. Ran possessed few fears, and any kind of escape from his life was possible, making this a major flaw in his character. However, Ran had found madness, insanity to be the best because you were utterly alone in that realm, away from scrutiny and all kinds of pain. This was why Schuldig was desperate to call him back because the longer he remained there, the more reluctant he would be slip back to reality, and its harsh realizations.  
  
“Am I too late, Ran? Has your being already shattered, and not one shiver of the person I became friends with a year ago left? Who the hell am I going to drag off to the cinema to see art house films with now? You stubborn, reserved, tenacious, egotistical, intelligent, stoic, devious, handsome bastard! Why do you have to leave me alone?” Having spent the last of his words, and unable to think of anything that would stir Ran’s consciousness, he rested his forehead against Ran’s, the crimson strands trickling his flesh for a moment.  
  
At the brief spasm throughout Ran’s body, Schuldig started, wasting no time in placing both of his hands on the man’s face, nearly cheering out loud when the contact brought about a low muttering. “…I see. The only way you’ll return is if I…so be it. I don’t much care if you hate me later on. At least you won’t be wandering about the desolate halls of some asylum.” With as much tenderness as he could muster, Schuldig pressed his mouth to Ran’s, forcibly pushing entry until he could probe every inch of that sleek flesh.  
  
Ran remained stilled, the fingers of his left hand occasionally curling or joining to make a fist. However small the reaction, it was the most Schuldig had gotten out of Ran in the last hour. As long as his friend continued to respond, he would not stop until Ran regained consciousness or the insignificant changes began to decrease. As his mouth worked down the flesh of Ran’s throat, Schuldig fought not to lose what self-control he had left. Ran was everything he appeared to be, the pale skin tasting of cinnamon with a mild lemony flavor.  
  
The buttons of the dark long sleeved shirt Ran had been clothed in were undone with ease, and then Schuldig’s hand began exploring the exposed flesh, thumbs brushing against two brown nubs after a moment. Ran’s breathing hitched, the rise and fall of his chest becoming irregular the more Schuldig fumbled about his person. Leaving a thin trail of wetness down the man’s midsection, Schuldig shifted his mouth to the top of Ran’s jeans, skillfully making use of his mouth to undo the single silver button and a short moment later, his teeth to unzip the line of metal that served as a zipper.  
  
“Boxers, eh? I had you pegged as a briefs man myself,” Schuldig muttered to himself as he reached one arm above to grab hold of both of Ran’s wrists while the other appendage busied itself by sliding into the molten heat of Ran’s boxers. Had the body pressed against him been a willing participant, the telepath would have commended Ran on how naturally his body responded to Schuldig’s prodding, what with the way his hips suddenly rocked forward, urging more ministrations on. Perhaps Ran was a willing participant in this activity after all…  
  
When Schuldig licked the tip of Ran’s manhood, he shuddered, all strength seeming to leave his body as he slumped forward into the circle of Schuldig’s arms and clutched at his clothing, fingers curling about the area of Schuldig’s shoulders. Smirking, Schuldig shifted his tongue down the underside of Ran’s member, fully aware he was teasing more than pleasuring the man in his arms. However, Schuldig considered this payback for all the rejections, the flat-out pushes and shoves, bruises and verbal abuse Ran had bestowed upon him whenever he had tried to push his friendship with Ran farther.  
  
After a loaded moment, Schuldig decided to grant Ran a reprieve, and began getting down to business, so eager was he to be buried in the body that pressed ever closer, the breath of which was unsteady, and very much near panting. Schuldig had entirely forgotten the task of monitoring Ran’s mental progress, and wasn’t even aware of the pale hand that had wound its way into his hair, fingers compressing against orange reddish strands minutely. When Ran was near to climaxing, Schuldig didn’t bother moving away, merely worked his throat and using hasty hands pulled the rest of Ran’s clothing away, fingers seeking a certain opening automatically.  
  
The panting, mewling sounds of the man pressed against him only welted Schuldig’s appetite, and when a lone finger slipped into a familiar cleft, he forced himself to linger, letting the oblivious Ran grow used to the feeling before slipping another of his fingers, stretching gently to avoid any discomfort. When a low whimper entered his ear, Schuldig started, raising his head to meet the flushed and quite irritated face of Ran or rather Abyssinian if he read the hard wintry eyes right.  
  
Unsure if to continue or not, Schuldig was surprised to find hands pulling at his jeans, long fingers gripping the dark material and pulling it down enough for his growing hardness to be evident against the thin white cotton restraining against it. Making his intent more than obvious, Ran pushed aside that obstruction as well and looked up at Schuldig expectedly, as if sure there was more to this but not clear on the details.  
  
Uttering a low chuckle, Schuldig added another finger before pulling away entirely and kneeling on the ground for a moment to grab hold of a small tube from his discarded jacket lying against the alley ground. He placed the tube in Ran’s hands, and then gently raised his hips until the silken heat of Ran’s member pressed against the flesh of his stomach. Cold liquid splashed onto his manhood, and fingers trailed the lube onto it as well, prompting a shiver from Schuldig as Ran leaned back, taking his hand with him.  
  
Holding his breath, Schuldig pushed the tip of his length in gently then noting no change in Ran’s manner besides the sharp gasp, followed through on his intent, burying himself to the hilt, reveling in the feeling of being encased in heat. There had been no resistance, no lingering ring of muscle to struggle past, and Schuldig noted this for future reference. It took great effort to actually move from this position, but once Schuldig found a suitable rhythm, he withdrew and then slammed upwards into those hips, propelled by the constant whimpers and mewls Ran was unwittingly making, shortened breaths entering the pathways of his ear carnal, adding fuel to the fire.  
  
Generally in the ways of the body, Schuldig was fond of relinquishing control of his body to others, taking the position of the receiver, but occasionally he liked taking over the reins as well, burying himself in the body of another…but never had he encountered sex like this. The innocent yet strong way Ran carried himself was impressive, the complete nonchalance regarding the position the two men had found themselves in, and ability to accept it as if Schuldig was offering him a cup of tea.  
  
As it was, Schuldig was losing control all too quickly, his composure slipping away as he worked himself in and out of Ran’s body, sweat beginning to run in lines down his face. The feel of a mouth upon his startled him but he accepted the kiss swiftly, nibbling on Ran’s lower lip a moment before slipping his tongue into the mouth pressed so close to his own.  
  
Ran’s body shuddered, the succession of compressing muscles traveling down to his lower torso, briefly pressurizing Schuldig’s length as it moved inside him, and ending with his climax, white and red streamers consuming his vision before a warm sticky liquid spread across the length of his stomach and most likely against Schuldig’s chest. Schuldig followed suit shortly after, mouth pressed tightly against Ran’s neck as he found release deep inside of Ran.  
  
Schuldig panted, straining to regain some hold over his breathing when a quiet sob cut through the air like a knife, and belatedly he realized the sound had come from the man he was still so deeply buried in. Ran’s face was flushed, redness gathering heavily in his cheeks as liquid glass slipped down his features, betraying deep sadness he’d been able to repress until this moment. Frantically, Schuldig withdrew, pulling off his shirt and ridding the both of them of bodily fluids before kneeling in front of Ran, looking up at him imploringly.  
  
“Aya-chan…” Without a word, Schuldig grabbed hold of Ran’s clothing and resituated them, taking care in the way he handled the near broken swordsman, displaying a disturbing amount of tenderness he hadn’t thought possible of himself. Schuldig fought not to pay heed to the desperate heart wrenching sobbing sounds Ran was producing. His face was turned away and he was nearly curled up into a fetal position on the alley ground.  
  
Swiftly putting to right his own clothes, Schuldig decided to ignore his common sense, and approached the wounded Ran, taking a seat next to the man and pulling him into his lap gently. He expected resistance, and found Ran all too willing, wrapping arms around his waist, and pressing his face against Schuldig’s shoulders.  
  
It became all too clear this was not something Ran allowed himself to do regularly as his supply of tears seemed never-ending. By the time the near choking sounds subsided, the Ran’s voice was almost hoarse. Cautiously, Schuldig snaked an arm under Ran’s knees, and when he didn’t receive a bruise for his troubles, stood up, making his way back towards Ran’s apartment building.  
  
Since Ran was empty and past the point of turning to madness to escape from his life, perhaps he could savage what he could of the remnants of his former life and build anew.  
  
_To Be Continued…_


	2. Domestic Interval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idyllic peace or so it seems.

Author’s Note: Events are put into random order though it makes sense if one takes the time to put the various situations in their logical order. 

[Written on January 17th of 2003 to August 1st of 2005]  
[Last edited 8/17/15]

Disclaimer: I do not own Weiss Kreuz, other numerous people hold the rights to it. I just borrow the characters, put them through various incidents, throw some angst their way and then return them as they were (usually).  
\------------------------------  
**_“Shattered Sunlight”_**  
_Chapter Two: Domestic Interval_  
  
The man sat comfortably in the executive chair of the deeply shadowed office, a thick Cuban cigar pressed tight between his lips. His mouth was set in a flat line as he turned over various topics and subjects in his mind. Occasionally, a hand rose and stroked a thick black mustache, and when his brow narrowed, wrinkles formed on his high forehead as a result. Among the shadows, it was hard to discern the exact color of his skin and therefore a guess on his nationality was anyone’s guess. His clothes were simple, a dark blue business suit though he had abandoned the jacket long ago. He stifled a growl when the door to the office vibrated and rattled verifying the presence of someone outside who desired a word with him.  
  
Without having to look as his fingers had had years of practice at this particular action, the middle-aged man compressed the small gray button to open the door underneath his desk, turning around abruptly with a severe glare grounded in his dark green eyes. He was not happy that his reverie had been interrupted by those who he considered beneath him, and not worth the notice he had to view them with.  
“What is it now? I’ve told you before those files can wait until tomorrow morning. Now let me be.”  
  
“But, sir, it’s not about the clients’ files, it’s about Fujimiya Ran.”  
  
“Report now!”  
  
“Right, thank you, sir. Eye witness testimony affirms the fact his talent-“  
Impatience for the usual polite babbling his assistant was prone to, made the man slam his fist to the desk surface, sending a few items situated on it spiraling to the floor beneath them. “To the point, lad, to the point! Has his talent manifested itself yet or not?”  
  
“Yes, sir, it has been confirmed that there is a chance. That under the right circumstances, it will fully manifest. However th-“  
  
“Spit it out!”  
  
As if folding into himself, his assistant spoke hurriedly, dread evident in his voice even though it was apparent he tried to suppress it. Considering the information he revealed, he was a little grateful though he would never reveal this out loud. “In the reports sent as of late, our contacts place a strange German who speaks particularly good English and Japanese at Fujimiya’s side.”  
  
The older man was motionless for so long, Sakamoto Koji was afraid he hadn’t heard him speak at all. The assistant started when his employer sat up abruptly, and cursed in a variety of foreign languages colorfully. “That damned telepath Schuldig! Sinking his claws in the man already.”  
  
It took a collection of moments for the man’s shoulders to unhitch and his breathing to return to its normal rhythm. Koji spent this time wondering just how his employer had gotten to the position he had today with the little supply of sanity he had at his disposal. “Well, no matter, we’ll have him in our possession in due time. Sakamoto, send out a recovery team at once.”  
  
Koji bowed deeply before heading towards the door. He’d always been extremely agreeable around the man, not out of fear but of caution, he’d seen some people who had entered this office come out dead or worse. He forcibly turned his mind away from the matter, he didn’t want to wake up from yet another nightmare tonight. “Oh, and Sakamoto?”  
  
The assistant turned slowly, expecting his employer to hit him or reprimand him for not reporting this news earlier, but the man still sat firmly in her chair, his face screwed into a most unpleasant expression as if he’d hit upon the correct torture method for his moral enemy. Nonetheless, Koji swallowed and continued to play the role he had been granted (unfairly) by fate. “Yes, sir?”  
  
His voice came out coldly, perhaps too coldly for the matter he was discussing. Beyond it, Koji could sense a kind of repressed glee like this truly appeased him. “His sister, the girl Aya, is expendable. Make a note of this and make sure each team member is aware of this fact.”  
  
Koji couldn’t stop himself from displaying his reaction, his very being was aware of the fact it was wrong. Deeply wrong for someone, even his employer, to view people as mere playthings to be put into their place whether they liked it or not. “But-Sir, she’s an innocent. My God, she’s only-“  
  
His bosss’ response was immediately, his usually deep and gravelly voice near booming now, clearly lecturing, displeased his words had been dismissed so swiftly. Never did the thought he had suggested something mortally wrong cross his mind. “Sakamoto, allow me to enlighten you on a fact of life. If one wants to get ahead, sacrifices have to made, it’s an inevitable part of living. If you ever hope to make it past your current position, you’d do well to abandon your sentimentality before it becomes a weakness others can exploit. Am I understood?”  
  
“Y-Yes, sir, have a good evening.” Bowing upon again, Koji retreated as calmly he could manage though a torrent of rage coiled inside him, and he wished for nothing more than the means to wipe his employer’s existence from the world itself. Things being as they currently were, Koji contented himself with the fact all those in power eventually fell, mostly by their own doing.  
  
When the door had firmly closed, the man stood before the glass windows, looking out upon the city of Tokyo, which seemed to shine all the more brightly once he had gazed upon it. After a few moments, the ends of his mouth shifted, and a broad smile overtook his features.  
  
If all were as planned, there would yet another addition to the growing force of his organization, and as powerful as Fujimiya’s talent was rumored, there was much the man could accomplish with it. For the moment however, he would have to bid his time, and if the imbeciles serving underneath him did not acquire Fujimiya, there was always such a thing as doing the work himself.  
\------------------------------------  
  
A single strand of sunlight, unpleasantly shining and cheerful, falls through the dark curtains of the window, slowly making its way towards the large King size bed in the corner of the room. The bed consisted of white silk sheets, and I was one of the two grown men tangled within their depths. Another strand joins its kin, and I am standing in within a moment, treading across the white-carpeted floor to draw the curtain, knowledgeable of the late hours of the morning I kept, and how emotionally exhausted the man who shared my bed last night is. He will surely sleep out the morning, and part of the afternoon given the extent of our past activities.  
  
Before my fingers grasp the dark blue material of the curtain, I look aside in the direction of the pale man resting comfortably on the bed, his bare upper chest slowly rising and falling steadily, so deep in slumber, I doubt even the rising of the sun could rouse him. He is facing the wall, body strewn in such a fashion it would seem uncomfortable but he has not moved from this position in more than two hours.  
One of his arms is tucked underneath him, the other resting on the white cotton pillow beneath his head. The fingers of the hand are tangled in one of the ear tails that has fallen over his shoulder. Though his lower torso is buried amongst sheets, I can discern the vague form of his legs, bent so the left knee is pressing against the underside of his right leg. For all his protests, he fits the very description of a cat, possessing the same flexibility and temperament of said creature.  
  
His crimson hair, a red so bright at first glance it would seem blood, is messed and tangled, single strands of the mane betraying the short and orderly manner in which Ran lives his life. Set in that face rests a pair of dark violet eyes so outlandish, it seems absurd to state that he is indeed of Japanese descent. Finally, yet most importantly, is the flesh of that handsome body, paleness, a white that nearly matches the pallid sheets which upon he rests. Whenever my gaze rests on him for a lengthy period of time, I am reminded of those ancient marble statues in Europe, the continent where I spent my childhood, that seemed so impossibly beautiful, you’d never think of actually touching the statue for fear it would shatter at first contact.  
  
As I draw the curtains over the expense of window, I feel a smile broaden over my mouth, overtaking the smug expression in which my face is usually set. That dark beautiful creature is mine, these fingers having traced and memorized every curve of that body. My mind has absorbed the wide array of his emotions and the bulk of his past, and still, I feel there is yet more to lay claim to. After all, Fujimiya Ran is a very complex man indeed.  
  
I pad softly across the carpet, coming to rest before the frame of the bed, taking a moment to gaze at Ran’s profile before reaching over and pulling the covers up to his shoulders, the goose bumps I spied from my place at the window, immediately dissipating upon contact with the silky material. I leave the darkness of the room to enter the short hallway that connects to the bedroom, slowly weaving my way into the living room of the rented apartment.  
  
The medium sized space we will inhabit for the next two weeks is barely furnished, consisting of the bare necessities and little else. A total of five rooms that make up the apartment, two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. Predictably so, the kitchen is the largest, most of the appliances taking said space, leaving a small strip of linoleum to tread across and a wide countertop that extends into the living room where two high chairs sit underneath the tip of the thick surface.  
  
I reach out and grasp the refrigerator handle, raising my left hand to block some of the light. I scan the contents, scoffing when I realize the appliance is nearly empty. It looks as if taking a leave of absence from the apartment is unavoidable. I will have to be very careful, for the two organizations that were and still are pursuing us are relentless, harboring dangerous agents and very willing to use every resource and connection to find a certain telepath and a somewhat novice pyrokinetic. I still find myself taken back when I recall that Ran does possess such a talent, however latent it has become over the years of burying itself into Ran's consciousness.  
  
Biting back a curse, I exit the kitchen and head to the bathroom where I take a moment to examine the face that reflects from the glassy surface of the mirror. Unlike Ran, I do not own such exotic looks, but still consider myself attractive enough to catch the gaze of both men and women, of which I find myself drawn to on a regular basis. I run a hand through the long reddish orange locks that fall just to the edge of my collar bone irritably. I idly reach for the small bag that lies on the corner of the counter instead of grabbing a bandana. I draw out a hair tie instead, partly because Ran and I are striving to keep a low profile, and because it is unlike the usual manner I keep.  
  
Low profile or not, there are few telepathic foreigners that can speak near perfect Japanese with a slight German accent that often comes out nasally. While I may joke about with Ran for imitating a cat, I possess the eyes of that domesticated creature, the dark green irises occasionally glowing in the dark, even more so when I am very excited or anticipating a certain physical activity.  
  
As I dress, it vaguely occurs to me that even if we’d had an adequate amount of food, an outdoor extrusion would have still been needed since Ran had not the time to pack correctly. He merely grabbed a few of the basic necessities before the Kritiker agents returned. Until I am certain he is indeed emotionally stable, given the circumstances that have led to this point, we can make do with what little we have for a few days.  
  
I find myself abandoning my usual attire and opting instead for a long sleeved gray shirt, and a black pair of jeans that ride low on the hips. I’m heading to the living room, and I pause briefly then turn around, walking quietly across the floor of bedroom not a moment later as not to disturb Ran. His slumber is like that of the dead, long and ever lasting, and not easily awakened without great effort.  
  
I brush aside a crimson ear tail, the fingers of my hand faintly compressing on the wide expense of his neck, noting a few bruises around the area of the collarbone. I have the chance to feel self-satisfied when the body I’m leaning over stirs, one violet eye opening, and notching me with a stare.  
  
Ran says nothing, but then that’s not a surprise because I don’t expect him to. He’s a man of action rather than words, and he blinks at me for a few moments, perhaps wondering what I’m doing dressed and nearly draped over his bareback. I lay a hand on his forearm, and lay a light kiss on his cheek, the strands of his bangs briefly tickling my face, as I draw back, I speak low and hushed, unsure of how he feels about my presence or the recent developments in our relationship.  
  
“I’m going out for a while. I didn’t think to check the fridge for food last night, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to need some in the next few days.”  
  
He nods, a movement barely perceivable to the untrained eye, but I’ve spent more than enough time in his company to begin mastering the various emotions he displays through movement rather than words. Ran is clearly not pleased with the thought of exiting this sanctuary even for a little while though it is clearly necessary, and cannot be postponed.  
  
The temperature of Ran’s skin changes, shifting from moderately warm to burning hot and I start, pulling my hand away from his forearm in surprise and for the consideration of my flesh. “Your talent is still unstable, it’s playing havoc with your damn body temperature again. I may have to pick up some ice as well while I’m out. Are you going to be able to repress it while I’m gone?”  
  
Ran begins to speak then stops for a moment to clear his throat. “I’ll be fine. I have enough control now that I won’t overheat. I won’t let it. Just go, and be back soon,” he says softly then lays his head back on the pillow, closing his eyes. I watch him for a few minutes, making sure he’s not letting his pride overwhelm common sense, and suffers for it later.  
  
As I turn away, a hand jerks my elbow back, and before I can sense Ran’s intention, his mouth is pressed against mine is a searing kiss, forceful and gentle simultaneously. Just before he can extract himself, I nip his bottom lip, asking agreement to delve deeper, the high body temperature just enhancing the pleasure, lining it with a thread of pain.  
  
He opens his mouth wider, and I eagerly plunge into it, pressing closer to Ran all the while, ever careful to avoid direct contact with his flesh. He is anything but disagreeable, his hands clutching tightly at the material of my arms, the tips of said fingers nearly ashen. I pull back, considering the ever-rising need to breathe, and Ran’s low tolerance for external body heat at the moment. We remain as we are for a full minute, the sound of both our breaths ringing uneven, unable to shatter the impassioned air we’ve wrought around us.  
  
It is I who dare break this idyllic peace by leaning forward and pushing a hand through the crimson strands, knowledgeable of the smug and contended smirk that is spread broad on my mouth. Out of all the drugs I have stumbled upon and experimented with, Ran is the most addictive.  
  
With great effort, I pull myself away from him, fingers slipping through a long strand of his hair, a bit bedraggled but no less eye-catching, I have but a moment to glimpse the swift flash of regret on his face and then he abruptly resumes his position on the bed, the muscles in his bare back notably tensed by the trouble his talent is playing on his body. Had I not a few more moments to spare, I would offer to massage the newly formed knot out, but it’s a dangerous idea. Circumstances such as that, so innocent at first, usually lead us into a time-consuming activity.  
  
Retrieving my jacket from the coat rack, I proceed out the door, locking the two deadbolts that are firmly stationed outside the door. I myself know that if any of the organizations in search of Ran and I were in the right mind, they would send someone who would easily have the capability to overcome the locks. Putting this out of my mind however, I walk through the hallway down towards the stairs that will take me down six flights and to the exit of the apartment building.  
  
In our haste during the events of last night, I had taken the first living space that had been available, easily making it seem to the owner of apartment building that I had always lived here, and my rent had been paid in advance for a number of months. The building had been located in a rather classy area so I will not have to walk far to find the supplies we will need in the next few weeks, most of which is food and other necessities, but I am also considering purchasing clothes for Ran.  
  
His life has been destroyed along with his sister, who he’d barely been living with for a few months, and her method of execution would no doubt cause Ran some drama when he finally faced that revelation. I had not the time needed to inspect what had become of the Fujimiya’s apartment closely but Aya had stood out, as she was most likely supposed to. Someone had intentionally desired to break Ran fully and completely.  
  
It is with a bitter smile that I think this, flashing back to Ran’s expression as I held him against the alley wall while he stared inwardly as only those who have lost their mind, or are close to, are able to do. Despite being distracted by my thoughts, I keep a keen eye about me, particularly around the people surrounding me. If one lets their guard down, who is to say what will happen, particularly in the situation I am in?  
  
As I visit the various places needed to acquire what we need, my talent, as always, is particularly versatile. I am able to walk into a location, pick up what is needed and then walk out, having utterly convinced the cashier I have paid for all the items in hand. It is also such that the customers frequenting the shop will never even remember I was present. However, I know that if I overuse my talent, I will pay the price later on but I disregard this, and concentrate on the task I am doing. For Ran’s sake and my own, if anyone does remember I was around, the fault will rest solely on my shoulders.  
  
Only when I have entered a clothing store do I pause, and after a moment of thinking, reach out to contact Ran via telepathy, prodding gently with a metaphysical touch. Ran stirs but doesn’t fully awaken. Amusingly, I find myself pulled in the current dream he is having, and looking on, I am a bit startled to find Ran lying in bed that feels vaguely familiar. It’s only when another figure shifts from the recesses that I peer closer.  
  
When the man who I know as Balinese throws an arm around his teammate’s waist, I step forward but as I’m only a visitor in this dream, I am transparent, and unable to interact with the current surroundings around me. A bit irritated by this, I watch as Ran turns over and glares at Kudoh lightly before creeping out of the bed quietly, slipping on clothes he pulls from the closet near him. When he exits the room, I follow, my interest in Balinese not extending to watching him slumber.  
  
The boy known as Bombay waves at Ran from his seat at the kitchen table, a smile spread widely across his face. I grimace, it’s obvious Omi is a morning person, and as one that never gets out of bed before noon unless I absolutely have to, it’s repulsive. Ran, who is dreaming this, however, is also a morning person but somehow I am able to forgive this. Ran proceeds to make an exceedingly elaborate breakfast, and I begin to feel just a bit jaded, but this feeling is quickly dispelled when the egg Ran breaks begins to bleed heavily into the pan it is positioned above.  
  
As if it were a living thing, the broken egg continues to bleed, quickly filling up the pan and overflowing over the cabinets and onto the floor. Ran jerks away from the approaching liquid and turns to Omi, who has mysteriously disappeared. Near panicking, Ran proceeds to the room where Yohji is still asleep, but Balinese too has vacated the premises. Assuming Siberian was never imagined in the dream, Ran slowly realizes he is alone, and almost resigned, watches the blood approach, his face anything but impassive as shapes begin to make themselves evident in the crimson fluid, fast approaching the man’s waist now.  
  
I shout at him but he doesn’t to seem to hear me. When bodies rise from the blood, one of which looks decidedly like his deceased sister, something changes in the fabric of the dream. Suddenly, Ran’s head jerks towards me just as voices begin to speak. He clearly doesn’t recognize me but calls for help in a somewhat distorted voice. Snatching him from the dream metaphysically, I come to find myself huddled on the floor of the clothing shop, leaning against a display heavily as I struggle to steady my breath.  
  
A nightmare. I hadn’t even expected it, and as I pull myself from the floor, the few people that had stopped to wonder what had been wrong with the weird foreigner suddenly turn away, their interest in their previous activities more important. Groaning lightly, I exit the clothing shop, cursing underneath my breath. Having to pull Ran from such a thing has near exhausted me, and I’m very aware that Ran will not remember it when I arrive back at the apartment. He’ll only recall the overall feeling of the dream, not what occurred exactly.  
  
Summoning a taxi, I spend the short drive back to the apartment wondering just how I can explain my irritation at him without forcing him to remember the dream’s details.  
  
To Be Continued…


End file.
